Nobody's Child
by ControlledChaos
Summary: A guilt stricken, brokenhearted detective and an orphaned teenage girl are thrown together, only to discover all that they have in common
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Nobody's Child

**Author**: Controlled Chaos

**Rating**: T

**Disclaimer**: Any character you recognize belongs to NBC and crew. I do not intend to profit from this story, it's just a way to release my creativity. All characters that you don't recognize are mine.

**Summary**: A guilt stricken, broken-hearted detective and an orphaned teenage girl are thrown together, only to discover all that they have in common.

**A/N**: This might seem a little fuzy, but give it time. It's a work in progress. It's AU, set sometime in the future. I play aroundwith certain details from the show, especially timeline. I greatly appreciate reviews.

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"Sir?"

The forty-five year old man slowly raises his head and stares at the young woman in front of him. She smiles shyly. He's not quite as frightening as she had been warned he would be. In fact, the infamous, angry fire in his eyes isn't there at all. It's replaced with something indescribable. Sadness, maybe? But it's deeper than that. Yearning. Pain. Whatever it is, it clouds his previously baby blue eyes. Those eyes have seen too much grief to be called "baby" any longer. It would imply youth, innocence- things that he no longer possesses.

"Yes?"

She shivers involuntarily. Though he doesn't appear to be angry, she senses his volatility. He runs a hand through his prematurely salt and pepper hair, waiting for her to continue.

"Um, I'm sorry to disturb you. I was told you might be able to help me." Actually, I was told that you were the only person that could help me, she thinks, hoping that he cannot see that she is desperate.

It takes a few seconds for him to respond. He finds that his answers are all delayed these days. There's no rush anymore; not the way there used to be, anyway.

"I see. What is it that you think I can do for you?" His words are slow and deliberate. He may not be in a rush, but despite common belief, he does still care. He cares about other people, and sometimes about what they think of him. Life does still matter to him. He thinks that much should be obvious. If it didn't matter, he wouldn't be living.

"Well..." she trails off, unsure of how to phrase her question.

He senses her discomfort. "Why don't you sit down?"

She takes a tentative step into the office. He nods. She sits down on the chair in front of his desk, crossing her legs and sitting straight up in the chair.

"I'm s-s-sorry." Suddenly the words will not come to her at all. "I'm not sure how to say this."

"Who sent you to me?"

"My mother. Jessica Carey." He nods, but shows no sign of recognition. She bites her lip.

"Her name doesn't ring a bell." His voice borders on apologetic- certainly not a new tone for her. Sympathy and apology are all she seems to get from anyone.

"It wouldn't. You've never met her. She was going to come here herself, to talk to you." There is a hitch in her voice. He notices, well versed in the language of loss.

"I'm sorry. How long ago?"

It's no secret, but still, she is surprised at how easily he reads her. "Three months. I had to get her affairs in order, before I came here."

"I understand. Did she tell you why she wanted to see me? Or are you as much in the dark as I am?"

She sighs deeply, and it's only now that he notices her youth. She's no more than sixteen, he decides, if even that.

"I'm not sure how she knew this, but she was convinced that you knew my father. Well, my aunt actually."

He doesn't speak, but mentally reviews the catalogue of people he once knew. He can only really talk about people he used to know. He certainly doesn't know _them_ anymore. The ones that he _would_ know now are afraid to speak to him. It seems he has garnered quite the reputation in LA.

"What's his name?"

"My father?"

He nods.

"James."

She mistakes his silence for lack of recognition. "I'm sorry, I don't know his last name. I'm not sure he even knows I ex--"

"I know him."

"You do?"

"I've never met him." He sighs. "But I knew his sister."

"Knew?" She sounds disappointed. "As in you no longer know her?" She can't help but let out the sarcastic teenager lurking inside the poised young woman. He replies in kind.

"As in there's no 'her' to know anymore."

She doesn't like to be challenged. Besides, what does that mean? Any fear she may have had of him disappears as she blurts out what she's thinking. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means she died. Passed away. She's no longer with the living."

He can tell by the look of horror on the young girl's face that he has made his point. But for his own sake, he repeats it. And for the first time in seven years, he speaks her name.

"Jordan Cavanaugh," he whispers, "is dead."

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A/N 2: Well? A little dark, I know. It gets brighter though, I promise!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to **eternalgorithm** and **Jinubean** for reviewing! I really appreciate it. This chapter has some marginally fluff-like material. I am actually a fluff-aholic, believe it or not, so I'm trying something new with all this angst stuff. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Please review!

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"No. No, that's not possible."

"Get used to it, sweetheart," he says, not bothering to conceal the bitterness in his voice.

"I don't think you understand. She was my last hope. My mother is dead, my father is dead. I have no other family. I have no one else."

It's a full minute before he responds, and she barely hears him, he speaks so quietly. "You have me."

"Excuse me?"

"I _said_ you have me." He asks himself what he's doing even as he speaks. He doesn't even know this girl's name.

She stares for a few seconds. "You don't know me."

She's right. But that doesn't matter. "You're Jordan's niece."

"That's it?"

He nods and leans down, rummaging around in a desk drawer.

"I don't understand. I'm related to a woman that I've never even met and you're just going to accept me, just like that? What are you looking for anyway?" She rambles nervously, disconcerted by receiving such a response from the man in front of her.

"This." He offers her a small black book. She reaches across the desk to take it. As she opens it, she discovers that it is a photo album. She looks up at him, unasked questions in her eyes.

He laughs uncomfortably as she looks down at the first picture.

"I showed that to her once."

She assumes he's refering to her aunt. After a lengthy pause, he continues.

"She, uh, she," he chuckles in remembrance, "she told me it looked like the little black book she'd found on a prostitute in one of her cases. That was Jordan for you, always with a sarcastic quip to ease or avoid the emotion-sharing process."

The book is left open on her lap as she listens to him speak. She smiles, imagining the woman in the picture doling out the sarcasm. She's standing behind a bar, with a dishtowel in her hand. Her curly dark hair is in a messy bun on the top of her head and her eyes are shining. The grin on her face is clearly provoked by the photographer.

"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" There's a nostalgic smile on his face, and for a moment it doesn't seem so bad. Even the fact that he's speaking about her in the past tense doesn't register when he thinks about how innocently beautiful she was. She didn't know how lovely she was, and that only made her more so.

"Yeah. Yeah, she was."

"Turn the page," he encourages, leaning forward on the desk. He knows every picture well. He may not have spoken her name since he left Boston, but he looked at her every night.

She can't hold back a girlish "aww" when she sees the next picture.

He can't help but smile. He is vaguely aware of the fact that he has not smiled this much since the day he left Boston- the day Jordan died.

"Where was this taken?" she asks. He doesn't have to look at the picture, but he does anyway. Jordan is curled up on a couch with her head in his lap. He has one of her curls twirled around his finger, and his other hand rests lightly on her lower back as she sleeps.

"In her office. She fell asleep when we were working on a case. A friend of hers in the office snapped the picture right before she woke up."

She smiles. "Were you married?"

"Oh God, no. Jordan? Commitment? I don't think so. No, we tottered on the edge of dating for years but never quite took that step. We were just good friends. At least until..."

"Until what?"

"Nothing. Nevermind. Listen, as much as I enjoy reminiscing about Jordan, I must say that I know absolutely nothing about you." He realizes how much he enjoys this girl's company. But that doesn't mean he wants to spill his life story to her.

"Well, I suppose we should do something about that. It's a long story, though."

"We'll go to lunch. My treat. But first, what's your name?"

"Emily."

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**A/N 2: **Next chapter is Emily's story. Hopefully by Wed, if not, definitely Thurs.


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